


Homecoming

by wood_originals



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Dom/sub, F/M, Flogging, Handcuffs, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25640152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wood_originals/pseuds/wood_originals
Summary: Jax is home from prison, which means Jax is Tara's again. And she makes sure he knows it.
Relationships: Tara Knowles/Jax Teller
Kudos: 14





	Homecoming

“Real nice of your mom to look after the kids tonight,” Tara said, arms around Jax’s shoulders, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. He rested his hands on her hips, and she could feel his laugh in his chest.

“I wanted to have you all to myself tonight,” Jax said. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she made a happy little sound.

“Me too,” Tara said softly, looking up at him, smiling widely. When Jax was gone, there were other warm bodies keeping Tara company, but none of them held a candle to Jax.

Tara almost wanted to ask if he found any company in prison, a friendly hand, but the thought of it made her mood go dark, and she quickly pushed the question away. She wasn’t going to ask questions she didn’t want the answers to, and neither was Jax, so they focused on the now, and each other.

Jax leaned in and grabbed her legs, hoisting her up against his chest, and she laughed as he walked them back towards the bedroom, tossing her down on the bed. He grinned down at her. “Something funny?”

Tara shook her head, pressing her lips together. “Just happy.”

“Good. Me too,” he said. She loved how deep his voice was. He started kissing her, starting at her lips and trailing down her neck, following the plunge of her top, tugging it down to kiss between her breasts. She reached out to tangle her hands in his hair and then frowned, finding no purchase in the short locks.

Jax glanced up at her. She couldn’t help but sigh. “I miss your hair, Jackson.”

“I know, baby. I just didn’t want to put up a fight about it,” he said, pulling back a little.

Tara pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, pushing herself up on her elbows, “None of the other guys let them cut their hair. You could’ve said no.”

Jax pulled back now too, kneeling at the foot of the bed, as Tara pulled herself up at the head. “It wasn’t worth it for me. It’s just hair. I can grow it out again.”

“I know. It just feels like another way you’re different now, another bit of you that doesn’t belong to me, just like those 14 months,” she said. She brushed her hair out of her face, pulling an elastic off her wrist and putting it up in a messy bun. “And I want to take you back, now.”

Jax grinned at that, sitting back with his legs out in front of him, hand resting over himself absently. “Oh yeah, baby? You wanna claim me? That’s kinda hot.”

She tilts her head to the side slightly, grinning back at him, “Yeah? You mean that?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Jax said, crawling up the bed to get to her again, but she shifted off the bed before he could reach her. He sat up, watching her as she stood beside the bed, just out of reach. “Tara?”

“If you mean it, let me claim you. Show me you’re mine,” Tara said. She could hear the eager tone in her own voice, the heat behind the words, and she wondered if Jax still recognized that in her.

Jax moved, sitting at the edge of the bed. He offered her his hands, palms up, shaking his head in that fond little way he did sometimes when he looked at her. “I’m yours. Tell me what I can do to prove it.”

Tara felt like electricity was pushing through her veins, sparks under her skin sending shivers down her spine. She moved towards the dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a pair of handcuffs, the metal shiny and new, a thin but strong chain connecting them.

Jax eyed her as she walked back over to him, looking between the cuffs and her face. “You don’t think I’ve been wearing those enough lately?”

“That’s the point,” she said, offering them to him for inspection. He turned them over in his hands, the metal felt almost cold at room temperature. “They used these so you would belong to the prison. You went to prison because you belong to the club. It’s my turn, now.”

She reached up, tracing her fingertips over his face. He closed his eyes for her and she let her fingers move over his features, tracing his eyebrows, his nose, down to his lips. Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth slightly for her. She smiled.

“You remember our rules, right? Red, yellow, green?” she said, pulling her hands back, letting him open his eyes. They seemed a little darker now, pupils wide.

He nodded. “I remember. Here,” he said, offering her the handcuffs. She took them, and he kept his hands out for her. She snapped the cuffs on him easily, making sure not to make them too tight. “Do you have to put them over the top of the bed or something?”

“Ceiling,” she said lightly, looking up at the hook installed over their bed. Jax followed her eyes and swore under his breath. He looked back at her like she was the most gorgeous and formidable creature he had ever met. “First, we have to get rid of your pants. Stand up.”

He stood for her, holding the chain out of the way as she unbuckled his belt, letting his jeans fall to the floor in a heap. She bent down to tug his briefs off too, helping him step out of them. Finally, she tugged his socks off, throwing them aside with the rest of it.

His cock was hard for her, a bead of precum resting so pretty at the slit, and she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his hip bone. Jax groaned above her. “Tease,” he said.

“You have no idea, baby. Up on the bed, kneeling, under the hook if you can manage that,” Tara said, her voice taking on that special tone as she prepared for their time together. She stood up and watched him climb on the bed dutifully for her. She climbed on the bed after him, taking the length of chain that connected the cuffs, and standing on tip toe to run it over the hook.

She climbed back down to look at her handywork, standing at the foot of the bed. He was gorgeous. His arms were pulled up over his head, and it looked like all of her measurements worked out perfectly. The cuffs kept him up and pulled his body taut, but it didn’t seem to hurt him to kneel there. His cock curved up against his shirt, his strong thighs grounded him and he shifted his knees to get comfortable.

“I’m going to cut your shirt off,” Tara said simply, walking back over to the drawer she pulled the cuffs from, taking out a sharp pair of scissors. She walked back towards the bed.

“Only if you take yours off, too,” Jax said, still teasing her despite his position, smiling sweetly as he continued to shift his knees, trying to find the perfect position.

“Brat,” she said, voice a little breathy, and she put the scissors down on the bed so she could pull her shirt up over her head, tossing it aside like she did with his clothing. She stood before him in a black lace bra that she bought specifically for when he got out.

Her life may be a little unorthodox, but she couldn’t pretend like she didn’t enjoy the perks.

Jax whistled at her, and she shook her head a little bit as she climbed onto the bed in front of him. She leaned up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, patient, and full of love. When she pulled back, she started the scissors at the bottom of his shirt, cutting up with ease, making a cross over his chest to release the sleeves and let the fabric fall off his back.

“I’m dying to see what’s next. Tattoo gun? Lipstick marks as far as the eye can see?” Jax said, finally still on the bed, knees open wide enough to hold him steady, flush running down his chest.

Tara leaned over, resting the scissors on the floor next to the bed, before she turned back to him. She put her hands on the outside of his thighs, pulling the soft pads of her fingers up his body, over his hips and to the dip of his waist, settling there for a moment.

“Not quite.” She stood up, walking back over to the drawer. She took out something long, thin and black, holding it by the handle, a thin loop of leather at the end. She walked back over to the end of the bed, turning it over in her hands so Jax could see it from all sides. “It’s a crop. This one’s narrow, so it… stings more.”

“Where did you get that from?” Jax said, voice a little awed.

Tara shrugged easily, bending the shaft between her hands. “I bought it. After doing some research, of course.”

“And you can use it?” Jax said, and she noticed his voice twisting a little. Good.

She smiled at him. “Of course, baby. Lyla gave me some pointers after hours at Cara Cara, and I’ve been practicing. I won’t hurt you. Not by accident, at least.” Tara could see Jax’s breath catching in his chest, she could see the ways his cheeks went pink. “Green?”

“Green,” Jax repeated, nodding for her. He licked his lips as Tara stepped closer.

She looked him up and down, walking a semi-circle around the back of the bed, taking him in from every angle. She appreciated the sharp lines of his muscles, and got acclimated to the heavy feeling of his trust in her.

Finally, she stood at his side, reaching out and touching the tip of the crop to his cock. The leather was warm from being in her hand, and she traced along the underside of him. He groaned for her, his head falling forward, eyes closing.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and she watched him tense up for her.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” she said, voice deep and breathy and wanting. She shifted, moving the crop to his back, tracing over the full back piece declaring his dedication to the club. She mostly loved it, sometimes hated it, but nonetheless accepted it as something important to him.

She used the soft leather tip to trail over his ass, the back of his thighs. She watched his muscles shift as her attention moved, and she lost herself momentarily in the rhythm of his breathing.

“Ask for it, Jackson,” she said, pressing the shaft against his cheeks, getting his attention.

“What?” Jax asked, and she could tell from his voice that his mind was drifting away, and that wasn’t what this was about. Not this part of it. “Ask for what?”

She pressed the point against him now. “Ask me to mark you. Ask me to hit you.”

Jax groaned again, and she could see how hard he was for her. She wondered if he’d still be hard by the time she finished with him. “Please, baby. Mark me.”

Tara had done her research. She knew about warming someone up, preparing the skin, how sharp the hit was from a crop like hers. But this wasn’t about that, this wasn’t a game. This was a lesson.

She brought the thin crop down across his ass, the shaft marking a clean line against his skin, the loop at the end hitting the exact spot she was aiming for. He swore, sharp and violent, yanking at the cuffs on his wrists.

Four more hits followed in quick succession, spread over his cheeks, thin pink lines left behind by every swing. His breaths were jerky and his face was red now, and Tara thought he might be breaking out in a sweat, the short, soft hairs at the back of his neck sticking to his skin slightly.

She switched the crop to the other hand and reached out for his marked skin, rubbing the palm of her hand over his ass, smoothing over the lines on his sit spot, the two lines that crossed over higher up, the random pattern made in her speed.

It would be so easy to reach around, take his cock in her hand, bring him to his breaking point in less than a minute. She ached to feel him inside her again, pressing up against that spot that made her yell his name and feel the world come crashing down around them.

She pulled her hand back. Jax moaned.

“Are you going to remember you’re mine?” she asked him, walking around him, moving to the other side. His eyes followed her, pupils blown wide, bottom lip red from where he was biting down on it. She walked back, her steps careful, unrushed.

“I always remember you,” he said simply, his words coming out easy.

She shook her head. “That wasn’t the question, Jackson. Are you going to remember you’re mine? That you–” She brought the crop down hard, right along the crease where his ass met his thighs. “–are–” The crop came down again. “–mine?”

She snapped her wrist perfectly with the last hit, the sound of it impacting his skin sharp, and he cried out for her, a wordless yelp. Drawing the crop back, she could see she broke skin, a few small drops of blood rising up to the surface, the same way the bead of precum clung to the tip of his cock for her earlier. She wanted to lick it off him.

“Fuck, Tara, _yes_! I’m yours, okay, I’m yours!” Jax said, voice rough now. He jerked sharply, yanking at the cuffs that were starting to bite into his skin, pulling at the break of skin with every movement.

“Wasn’t so hard to answer, now, was it, baby?” she said. She gave him a moment to settle again before she switched hands again, reaching out and rubbing against the new marks, avoiding the one that broke the skin, not wanting to address it until she could clean it.

Tara walked out in front of him again, settling at the end of the bed. He was definitely sweating now, his skin glowing with perspiration, and she could almost see the adrenaline pulsing through him.

When he caught his breath, he looked up at her with heavily lidded eyes. “Is that it? You know I have to ride tomorrow,” he said, voice low, edging on threatening.

“You know what you need to say if you want me to stop,” Tara said sweetly. “Are you calling red?”

Jax pressed his lips together, jaw clenched. His eyes were hard, but he refused to give in.

“I know you can take more. And I want you to remember this, feel it,” she walked back to the side, using the crop to touch him again, brushing up against his skin, over his ass and his thighs. “I want you to feel me, when you’re sitting at that redwood table, when you’re riding your bike. I want you to know where you belong at the end of the day.”

“With you,” Jax said, then quickly added. “To you.”

She leaned in and kissed his hip once more. “Good boy,” she said, and she heard him bite back a soft whine in the back of his throat. She smiled. “Do you think you can take twenty more?”

He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, almost like a wince. She watched him carefully and waited for a response, making sure to keep an eye on his hands. There were clear marks around his wrists from where the cuffs were biting into his skin, but his hands still looked fine, and he was stretching out his fingers.

“Twenty-five,” Jax said finally, his voice wavering slightly but his eyes were steady on hers. “I want to make sure I feel it.”

“Oh, Jackson. I’ll make sure you feel it,” Tara said. She stretched out her arm slightly, lining up the first swing over his thighs. “Count for me, okay? Don’t make me restart, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“One,” he said, the word coming out with his exhale, letting his eyes fall shut and his hands turn to fists as he prepared himself for his marks. Tara worked her way up to five, and then ten, and he dutifully kept count, panting slightly.

Tara could see a bead of sweat between his shoulders, threatening to drag down his spine. His thighs were shaking slightly, shuddering, and his cock was dripping down his shaft. It almost took her breath away, but she knew she had to stay focused, in the moment, to keep him safe.

“Louder, baby. You don’t want to mumble,” she said. The last ten marks were spread over his thighs, so she brought the crop back up to his ass, crisscrossing the marks already there, pinks and reds and beads of blood rising so beautifully to the surface.

His almost yelled out eleven, twelve, thirteen. His voice was going hoarse. Fourteen. Fifteen. His voice started to break as his skin split from the force of the hits, marks overlapping cruelly.

Sixteen. Seventeen. She cracked the crop skillfully over his crease again, and he jerked and twisted to get away from the stinging pain, but still he remembered to count for her. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

He was panting. His hair was damp against his head, and his chin was wet with spit from counting, from yelling, from moaning. Tara paused, dragging her hand over the crop, her palm coming away slightly pink from the blood drops.

She steadied herself before she said, “Five more, just like you asked for. What colour are you?”

“Hnn,” Jax groaned, eyes flickering open, searching for her. His frame was starting to hang by the cuffs, she could see him resting his weight against the sharp metal, swinging slightly on his knees. Despite that, he said clearly, “Green.”

“Good, baby. You’re going to count them out for me, start with one, okay? One, two, three, four, five. Then I’m going to touch you, make you come for me,” she said carefully, making sure he was registering what she was telling him. “Then you’re going to come down from there, and I’m going to take care of you. Okay?”

Jax nodded. “Okay.”

One, a choked sound pulled from his lips. Two, slightly louder, slightly sharper. Three, a groan, thigh muscles spasming. Four, a yell, skin splitting over an already open line. Five, a mewl, soft as an eyelash brushing across a cheek.

Tara dropped the crop on the floor, and when she took his cock in her hand, it seemed to take him a moment to return to his body. But when he blinked his eyes open for her again, wetness clinging to the corners of his eyes, falling shamelessly down his cheeks, he moaned easily, coming against his stomach in less than two minutes.

Tara stayed in front of him as she pulled the chain up and off the hook, bringing his arms down slowly, all dead weight, and he leaned up against her body. She carefully brought his arms down, hushing the sounds of pain as aches worked through him and blood filled his arms, his hands.

She laid him back against the bed as gently as she could, but he was heavy and not doing much to help keep himself up. She had to shift to the side to pull his legs out from underneath him. He curled up on his side, facing her. She pulled the key out of her pocket with shaky fingers and unlocked the cuffs, dropping them and the key off the side of the bed.

She leaned in and kissed over his face, tasting tears on her lips. “You did good, baby. Good job.” He mewled again for her, the barest whisper of a sound. She pulled a pillow down and maneuvered it under his head, shifting his body and checking over him, his shoulders, his rubbed-raw wrists. She pressed a kiss to his temple as she said, “If you need to move, move onto your stomach, okay?”

He hummed in response.

The work that came next was easy. She knew how to heal a body, she studied for what felt like half her life for that job. She whispered that she would be back soon and then she eased off the bed to grab the first aid kid from the bathroom. She sat next to him and worked through the steps.

Skin breaks were cleaned, and soothed. He continued to make sweet, wordless sounds for her, and she murmured praise in return. He moved onto his stomach, and she began to care for his muscles, rubbing out his lower legs, and checking his shoulders, his upper arms.

He was like putty in her capable hands, and she knew he would tell her anything she wanted to hear in that moment, promise her the world. So she worked without asking anything of him, putting her energy into piecing him back together, after he allowed her to take him apart.

Eventually, there was nothing more to be done. Jax was melted into the bed, hovering at the line that blurred awake from asleep. Tara laid out beside him, leaning in kiss him soft, quick.

“Love you, baby,” he slurred, unable to open his eyes for her.

She smiled for him, even though he couldn’t see it. “Love you too. Go to sleep.”


End file.
